Every night
It's 3 am
Dead hour
The heals are awake
The heals are alive
A body without a soul
Is a corpse of course
Lifeless limbs
Still walk
In the dead hour
Some say they're gone
I say just broken
Hickery tickery tock
Hourglass breaks
There goes the clock
Birds chime away in the heads of the insane
They are searching for something
In the nothingness of black
Staring at the ceiling
Does the ceiling stare back?
They think about outer space and stars
Insomnia and insomniacs
And healers and mystics
of all kinds
But there is no light to be seen
and every night
It's 3 am
The dead hour

We'll never know which of
our mistakes were lucky breaks.
Or if indecision;
was the right choice.
All we know is where we are,
if not what we are.
Even if;
we've made a mockery,
of the world's tickery tockry.
So walk on, sing strong,
with a heart in your voice.

Alone
By Tina Tickery

The twinkle in her eyes
would go right in the heart of a tender soul.

She wished there were more Twinkles
so she could be the soul of the other Twinkles.

She wished there were more Tender Souls
so she could share her glistening eyes.

A holder of innocence
is the one with a twinkle in the eye.

A holder of tenderness
is the one with a sensitive side.

Both holders are remarkable,
but too rare for her to meet.